


Who you gonna call?

by JunoWrite



Category: Pocket Monsters: Sword & Shield | Pokemon Sword & Shield Versions
Genre: 5 Times, Additional Characters to be added, Gen, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, allister centric fic, like a 5+1 times thing except probably more than 5, this lad is an enigma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-22
Updated: 2020-02-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:35:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22356499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JunoWrite/pseuds/JunoWrite
Summary: Five(ish) times Allister vanishes and the one time he’s exactly where he’s expected to be.Aka the fic where everyone accidentally ends up adopting this strange little guy through mysterious circumstances.
Relationships: Onion | Allister & Everyone, Onion | Allister & Nezu | Piers, Onion | Allister & Saitou | Bea
Comments: 40
Kudos: 351





	1. Piers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bea is worried. Piers is confused. Allister is Allister.

He had just wrapped up the third set of the night when his rotom phone buzzed. Normally when he got texts during a performance he didn’t answer. No encore, no distractions. 

About five seconds later, it buzzed again. 

_And again, and again and-_

He brought his hands down on the microphone, causing an ear splitting feedback screech. “Shows over for tonight lads, pack it up.” He waved to the tech, who shut down the lights and sound. A chorus of “aww”s and “darn”s echoed about as the crowd in front of his stage in Spikemuth’s dark streets dispersed and mingled amongst themselves.

He jumped from the stage, meandering towards the instrument cases and speaker system to check his phone. The rotom phone was configured so that he only got notifications from very important people, and rarely did he get them as often as this. It must be something serious. 

The screen was blindingly bright compared to his surroundings, showing a wall of text that seemed endless. It was the gym leader group chat, for emergency situations only. He scrolled to the top to read the block of text from the beginning.

_**Bea:** @everyone Can everyone keep a lookout for my brother Allister? He left the gym hours ago and it’s getting dark. He hasn’t returned yet and I am concerned for his safety and whereabouts. _

_**Milo:** sure, what’s he look like? _

_**Milo:** i can’t recall having seen him at all this year.. _

_**Bea:** He is about a meter and a half tall, has very dark indigo hair and went out in his ghost type gym uniform this morning. He may be wearing a white mask with three holes, but if not, his face is pale and he has violet eyes. _

_**Raihan:** this morning?? thats like 8 hours ago! doesn’t he have a phone to text you on? have you tried contacting him? _

_**Bea:** He has a rotom, but he rarely takes it with him if he’s only going to be out for a few hours. I got worried when he didn’t come back for lunch, and asked the locals in Stow-On-Side to keep an eye out. No one has seen him since around 11am. _

_**Milo:** oh no!! :’( I’ll look around the grassy fields, maybe he got lost out there in the tall grass! _

_**Kabu:** I’m afraid I haven’t seen the boy around these parts, but I can check the mines and caves. Plenty of people get lost down there all the time, I’m sure a smart young man like Allister won’t be too hard to find. _

_**Nessa:** That’s not comforting at all, Kabu. _

_**Nessa:** I’ll look around by myself, but if we still haven’t found him by midnight I’m calling out a search party to check the waterways around Hulbury. _

_**Raihan:** ill check the vault. i think i remember him wanting to go there before??? _

_**Raihan:** if he isn’t there i can look around. its a big city tho so idk how much luck ill have by myself. _

_**Opal:** I’m sorry to hear about this so late. I can ask some of my gym trainers to check the Glimwood Tangle before it gets too dark to see, but there isn’t much I can do without putting my own trainers in danger. _

_**Raihan:** im going to send the message to Leon so he can check around postwick _

_**Raihan:** and maybe take a flying taxi to hammerlocke to help me search here _

_**Gordie:** Melony and i are already searching. We will respond later if we find anything! _

_**Bea:** Thank you. I’ll keep searching Stow-On-Side and the ruins nearby, but updates from your locations would be appreciated. _

That’s where it ended. The last message had been sent almost 5 minutes ago, and the streets of Spikemuth where already draped in darkness. Piers’ finger twitched to respond, but he instead pressed the phone back into his pocket with a sigh. Spikemuth closed it’s gate at 10pm everyday to keep riffraff and wild Pokemon out and the people and Pokemon inside safe. The chances that Allister was in the city where almost none. He hadn’t ever even met the kid before. 

But he knew how important this was to Bea. If he were in this situation with Marnie, he would tear the entire countryside apart looking for her. There would be team yell grunts from here to Hammerlocke in no time searching for his younger sister. Bea deserved the same respect. 

It was nearly midnight and there weren’t enough people on the street to form an adequate search party. Despite being a dark type gym, his trainers where required to be in top condition for performances and battles, which meant they were probably all going back to their homes for a regular night’s sleep. He would have to search Spikemuth alone.

He walked down the main street, eyes sweeping up and down alleys. He knew that Allister was the Stow-On-Side ghost type gym leader. Where would a ghost-type go? 

As he went, he stopped any roaming people to ask about the kid. No one had seen him. They said they would yell if they turned up with any sign of him. He continued.

About an hour into his search, he was certain Allister wasn’t in Spikemuth. There was no sign of him anywhere, and no one had seen him on the streets. Every alley he checked was empty, save for a few purrloin. The pokemon center was desolate as well. With another tired sigh, he doubled back and made his way to the stage to finish boxing up the music and gym equipment. 

Hands in the pockets of his jacket, he sauntered into the small arena. It was a remarkably quiet night, which is why it startled him when, just under the stage, the scaffolding clanged loudly. He froze. 

Dropping to one knee a few meters from the stage, he looked under the platform to see a vague, small shadow crouching there. It didn’t have a distinct shape to it, but there was a faint purple glow ebbing from behind it. A pokemon? 

It didn’t seem to have noticed him yet. Piers cautiously walked around the edge of the platform, careful not to disturb the creature. Unfortunately, he couldn’t see the equipment in the dark and ran shins-first into a guitar case that was low to the ground. In the commotion of his own injury, he heard a scuffle and a metallic clang. 

“ _Ow_!” A quiet voice floated from beneath the stage. A voice?

“Allister? Is that you under there?” Piers sat on the guitar case, bending down to look under the scaffolding again. The shadowy figure was patting his head mournfully. 

“Yes.” He replied, though Piers could barely make out the whisper. Hopefully his explanation would be a little more detailed.

“Mind coming out from under my stage to tell me what you were doing down there in the first place?” He said. Piers really would have liked to have a flashlight right now. It was so dark that he couldn’t see his own hand in front of his face, let alone the kid under the stage. The only thing illuminating him was the purple-blue glow whose source was hidden behind Allister’s crouched form. 

As the boy began to make his way out from under the stage, Piers stood up straight, joints popping with the movement. He listened to the shuffling and scuffling as Allister crawled out from under the stage, careful to avoid the scaffolding bars and metal above him. 

The sight that greeted him was odd to say the least. In his arms, Allister held possibly the largest litwick he had ever seen. His arms were wrapped around it, barely reaching the circumference of the candle Pokemon’s stumpy body. The light from the litwick shined off of his mask, casting an eerie indigo light on their surroundings. 

“Come on, kid.” He awkwardly patted his shoulder, steering him around to the gate on the right of the stage. “You’re coming back to my place until your sister gets here to bring you home.” The gate unlatched with a clink. “And, you are going to tell me how you ended up under my stage.” 

“...” Allister didn’t say anything, but there was weight to his silence. He didn’t seem bothered. Piers let him lead the way with his litwick, telling him where to make turns and to watch out for uneven floor and stairs.

They carefully made their way up two flights of stairs, Piers digging around in his pocket for the door key and Allister being usually quiet. The litwick’s flame provided enough light to make the journey up the stairs a generally safe one.

Opening the front door, Piers hit the lightswitch in the kitchen-slash-living room, bathing the room in artificial light. It wasn’t perfectly clean, but it wasn’t dirty either. Piers’ mission was to bring Spikemuth back to its former glory, and that started with him and his surroundings. If he could make his own place lively and inviting, the rest of Spikemuth would follow his example.  
  


In the new light, Allister looked absolutely abysmal. Aside from his general look of ghostly unease, he was a bit mucky all over, like he had chased a zigzagoon through the wild areas. 

Piers gestured vaguely to the couch, making his way to the kitchen. He put on the electric kettle for tea, and while he waited for it to boil, went to the group chat to update Bea on the situation.   
  


He had 7 missed texts, total. 

_**Nessa:** I’ve sent out the search party. _

_**Raihan:** nothing here! leon left hop, victor and gloria in postwick to search the slumbering weald while he helped me search here _

_**Raihan:** no sign of the kid yet _

_**Melony:** Gordie is still out searching, but I believe your Allister isn’t here in Circhester. Good luck to any parties still searching! _

_**Gordie:** no sign of him on route 9, but I’m not gonna stop looking!!! _

_**Opal:** No sign of him in the tangle, I’m afraid. Not a single pokemon has seen him today. _

_**Bea:** I’m afraid I might have to get the police involved soon. Thank you for searching. _

The last message was only ten minutes old. He tapped out a response.

_**Piers:** I got him here with me._

The response was almost immediate.

_**Bea:** Thank you, I’ll be on my way soon. Where was he? _

  
He glanced across the room to where Allister had put himself on the couch. He was trying to keep the litwick from falling off the coffee table by corralling it between his hands, but was otherwise completely unaffected by his surroundings.  
  


_**Piers:** In Spikemuth._

  
He decided that now wasn’t the best time to bring up exactly where he had found her brother, at least until he had more information. He continued to type.

_**Piers:** Still haven’t gotten a reason why yet. _

_**Bea:** Ok. Please keep him in sight until I get there. _

_**Piers:** ok._

Soon enough, the other gym leaders read their back and forth and multiple typing bubbles appeared.

_**Raihan:** no way!!! good job piers :D _

Before anyone else could respond, he shut the rotom phone away again, and moved to find the tea he had stuffed away in his cabinets. He rarely made tea, but he knew that giving children coffee or energy drinks was generally considered a poor choice, so he dug around behind the cereal boxes until he found a tin of extremely outdated tea bags. Tea lasts forever right? Probably. He shrugged and grabbed the electric kettle.

He returned to the living room space with a mug of tea in each hand. He set them on the low coffee table in front of the couch, moving stacks of old postage envelopes and magazines to make room for them. The litwick nearly knocked them off the table, but Allister hefted it onto his lap before it could bump into the heavy mugs. 

Compared to Allister, he was a giant; Allister seemed almost invisible next to him. It was almost comical: Him, ridiculously tall, on one end of the couch, and the lad, who barely reached his hip in height, on the other.

When offered the cup, Allister made to bring it to his mouth, but hesitated. He set the mug down on the table and removed his mask instead.

Bea held back in her description. She failed to mention the way his face seemed almost white, lacking any complexion. His eyes had sleep circles around them as if he hadn’t slept in a thousand years, and his irises where a pale violet which seemed to glow softly from within. If Piers hadn’t seen him moving before him, he might have thought he was already dead. 

After placing his mask on the couch beside him, he cupped the mug in both hands to drink. The litwick squirmed, trying to wander away from it’s confines.

“So.” Piers started, a little nervous. He didn’t talk to kids often besides marnie, at least not in a setting like this. He knew how to talk to gym challengers. Children? Not so much. “What’s with your little friend here?” 

After placing his cup back on the table, Allister wrapped his arms around the litwick and turned to Piers. “I didn’t mean to be here.” Odd. “A traveler on route six told me of a haunting in a residence of Spikemuth. A really aggressive one that no one could handle. I thought I could help.”

Piers set his mug on the table. “And what was it?”

“It was just this litwick. It got lost and somehow trapped itself in their home.” The aforementioned litwick made to escape his grasp, but Allister simply turned it around and brought it back to him. “I asked them if they wanted to keep it, but they told me to take it away.”

He took a break from talking to take another sip of tea, one hand holding the cup, the other wrapped around the litwick. The creature cooed with an echoing, inquisitive sound. Despite the precarious tasks, Allister somehow appeared to maintain perfect manners and posture. He continued, “I brought a dusk ball to catch it with, but it refused to be held. So instead I tried to carry it home.” He didn’t meet Piers’ disbelieving gaze, instead letting his sight settle level with the coffee table. “It drifted off a few times when I wasn’t paying attention, and I had to chase after it.”

Piers tried to get rid of the incredulous look on his face, but couldn’t. “I imagine ‘at’s how it ended up under my stage, then?”

Allister nodded, fidgeting a bit where he sat. He looked as uncomfortable as Piers felt. 

“Well, seems like a flighty little bugger.” There was a knock on the door, and both he and Allister flinched at the loud noise. He stood up off the couch, and made his way to the door to answer.  
On the other side, a short young woman stood impatiently tapping her foot. Relief and anger warred across her face. He welcomed her in and was practically run over as she stormed the entrance. 

“Where’s he at?!” She said, fuming. Allister only had time to stand up before he was overwhelmed by a crushing hug. “You- you-!!” She held him at arm’s length, a frown set on her face. “You didn’t tell me where you where going! I was so worried you had gotten lost or hurt or- or worse!” He shrunk under her gaze, staring down at the floor. Piers felt awkward just standing by the door, so he made his way to the kitchen to give them some privacy, scooping the litwick into his arms before it could escape again.

She shook her head and pulled him into another hug, cradling the back of his head in one hand. “Please don’t ever, ever do this again.” Allister was still silent, eyes wide as saucers. 

She held him like this for a while. When she let go of him again, he stood on his own. He looked like he might fall over at any moment, swaying slightly on his feet, arms at his sides limp. She paused to even her breaths. “Promise me you will take your rotom with you from now on, wherever you go.” There was a slight pause, tension still dwindling from the momentary outburst.

“Promise.” It was barely audible, less than a whisper, but she heard it.

“Good. Okay.” She stood up straight and looked around as if remembering that she was in someone else’s apartment. Her eyes scanned the room until she spotted Piers, trying very hard to look casual leaning against the kitchen sink. “Thanks for finding him. If you ever need anything, don’t hesitate to contact me. I owe you.” She poked him in the stomach with a finger accusingly, causing him to flinch again. 

“That won’t be necessary. I’m glad you could come an’ get him.” He stood up straight, moving back to the doorway. “I was a bit concerned that if he’d been ‘ere any longer he'd start attracting spirits.”

With the three of them in the doorway, it was noticeably obvious how much Piers towered over the other two gym leaders. Bea said thank you one last time, giving piers a little punch to his arm. Allister stood silently, mask reattached to his face, until Bea nudged him with her elbow. 

“Oh!” He startled. He had been looking intently at the litwick, which was making it’s strange ghost noises again. “Thank you for letting me and litwick stay in your house. It was nice.” He murmured, fidgeting with his suspenders. Piers handed the litwick down to the boy, which it seemed very happy with. Although it dwarfed his stature, he had no trouble holding it with both hands. “Litwick says thank you as well.”

Allister looked back once before descending the stairs to the ground floor, and Piers could have sworn he saw glowing pupils looking back at his own. The two of them left quietly into the night, the only remaining trace of them being the flap of a flying taxi’s wing.

Back in his apartment, he was all but ready to collapse onto the couch. He spied the two mugs collecting dust on the coffee table and decided the least he could do before succumbing to exhaustion was put the mugs in the sink. As he lifted them one to each hand, he was shocked to find Allister’s was almost double the weight of his own. In the better light of the kitchenette, it was obvious that though his mug was empty, Allister’s was completely full. It hadn’t been emptied in the slightest from how it had been when he gave it to the boy.

He distinctly remembered Allister drinking from the mug, though. Hadn’t he? He couldn’t believe the boy would have pretended to drink it, even as a courtesy. The mysteries about this lad just kept piling up. 

Instead of standing in his kitchen mulling over the strange kid he had met that night, he placed the cups in the sink and dropped down on the couch, out like a light.


	2. Raihan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raihan tries to escape the media. Allister offers him a juice box.

_Chk!_

Raihan took a quick selfie as the elevator chimed, lowering his hood when the doors slid open. Despite how prepared he was for situations like this, the ruthless onslaught of camera flashes and questions still caught him off guard. They began immediately.

_Are you going to remain the Hammerlocke Gym Leader now that Leon is out of the league?_

_How did Leon’s failure impact you, what did you think when you saw the match results?_

_Raihan! Follow up question-_

He took one step out of the elevator and was backed into the closing doors by outstretched microphones and film booms. His rotom phone hovered just over his right shoulder, snapping photo after photo of the ex-champion’s rival. Raihan could barely hear the sound over the manic frenzy of interviewers and paparazzi in the Hammerlocke gym lobby. It buzzed around his head and snapped another photo at the exact moment a film boom dropped into his personal space and hit him in the nose. _Ouch._ That one was never going to see the light of day.

Nevertheless, he feigned a charming smile and waved, pausing to answer a question or take a photo every few steps. It was exhausting how much people seemed to take a special interest in him after Leon lost his champion title. He liked this kind of attention, no doubt, but too much all at once was draining. He tried to move forward, but the crowd that surrounded him made it difficult to move at all. 

After about 20 minutes of half-heard questions and half-hearted answers, he had exhausted his friendly demeanor and public face. It was time to attempt an escape. There was one place he went to when he needed to be alone, one place that was always peaceful and quiet. It was his place, where few people were allowed to go and no one could follow him. 

He inched around the crowd, finding holes in their phalanx to maneuver through. When he had sufficiently separated himself from the pack, he said ‘thank you’s and ‘goodbye’s and walked briskly to the front doors which opened automatically. He didn't falter walking through them, not looking back at the crowd. He heard the sliding doors shut behind him. It wouldn’t stop them, but it would buy him some time. 

He turned the corner, all but sprinting across the side of the castle. Pedestrians turned to look with confused expressions as the dragon type gym leader ran down the street, interviewers in close pursuit. He spotted it, not a kilometer away: the door to the vault. It was being guarded by a single, lone official, but that would be more than enough to keep the posse out. He could hear them shouting his name behind him, begging him to answer more questions. He could almost pick some out of the cacophonous racket.

_Will you still be competitive with the new champion?_

_Did Ex-Champion Leon’s defeat personally affect you?_

_How has your relationship with the champion changed after the darkest day?_

He broke into a full-blown sprint. The guard at the door saw him coming at the last possible moment and was shoved aside in a flurry of apologies and bright orange. The door was opened and closed before a single interviewer could slip through. 

From the outside, the guard tried to reason with the crowd, convincing most of them to disperse. Raihan could hear them from the other side of the door, loud as if there wasn't a thick vault door between them. He breathed in deeply and sighed, leaning against the door with his eyes shut. The receptionist at the front desk of the room wasn’t perturbed by his sudden appearance, only glancing up to give a greeting before going back to filing documents on his computer.

Maybe the first two or three times he used the vault as a hiding place from extreme paparazzi he surprised the staff, but it had been weeks since then and now it was expected to happen at least once a day. As well as Raihan handled publicity, sometimes too much was too much. Everyone needed some privacy sometimes. 

The vault was pretty close to the gym and provided a silent environment with people who weren't about to dissect him with questions. The door was always guarded with one or two officials, so it was difficult for the media to follow him inside unless they had his specific permission. 

He would have gone home if home wasn’t on the other side of town. Contrary to popular belief, he didn’t sleep in the gym locker room, or in the gym stadium at all.

After what felt like an eternity, the noise through the door at his back had weakened but was still populated by what sounded like at least five voices. 

Rotom buzzed again, startling him. He opened his eyes, pushing off against the door. There was a nagging feeling in the back of his mind that he wouldn’t be getting out of there anytime soon. He walked around the receptionist’s lobby for awhile, scrolling through his social media.

The buzz about Leon’s defeat was still hot on the internet. It made the top topics list on four different social media platforms, three weeks in a row, and was still going strong. He didn’t need to see this right now. 

He pedaled up the stairs to the main vault with a bounce in his step, stopping at the top briefly to look out below the castle parapet. There was still a crowd of people there, around six. Their numbers had dwindled considerably.

One of the photographers glanced upwards to where Raihan was spying and he ducked out of view before he could know whether he’d been seen or not. 

The vault doors opened inward with a loud creak that echoed through the cavernous room. There was no one in the vault now, save for him. The tapestries rested on the farthest wall, glimmering in the light above them. The rest of the room was dark in comparison.

Once the doors closed behind him it was absolutely silent.

“Hey.”

Raihan screamed what may have been a high C#, and may have jumped nearly five feet vertically when the voice spoke, but no one would ever, _ever_ know about it. His voice echoed in the cathedral-like room, the sound bouncing off of every surface.

He spun around, looked for where the voice had come from, but saw nothing. 

Then he heard it again, clear as day. It giggled faintly, it's sound muffled.

“Here.” 

In the corner of his eye, a flash of movement. He turned around, dropping his gaze to the floor. Beside the door and swathed in shadows was the ghost type gym leader Allister. He sat cross-legged against the wall by the door, facing the tapestries. There was a little box on his lap which was open, and he was dissecting a biscuit. He waved at him.

“Allister?” He hadn’t seen the boy in at least half a year. Allister wasn’t the type to go with his sister to social events unless he absolutely had to, and he was at a weird age where it was awkward to try and hang out with him as a friend because he was too young, but also awkward to hang out with as some kind of cool older brother or uncle because he was too old. They were exact opposites personality-wise, so they tended to avoid each other, whether on purpose or not. Suffice to say, he had changed a lot since their last encounter, which must have been ages ago.

“Hi,” Allister said softly. His voice was the same as he remembered it, at least. Allister patted the ground beside him with one hand, to which Raihan replied by taking a seat on the stone next to him. He dug around in his box, retrieving a sandwich in plastic wrap.

“Would you like my sandwich?” His quiet voice fit in perfectly with the peaceful atmosphere of the vault.

“That’s probably the best question I’ve heard all day,” Raihan sighed, accepting the sandwich. Taking this as an invitation, Allister dug around some more and produced a juice box and a bag of yellow crackers as well.

“Why did you pack all this food if you aren't going to eat anything?” He quipped through a mouthful of sandwich and crackers. 

“Bea makes me take food with me when she catches me leaving.” Allister closed the box, pushing the whole thing towards Raihan. “But I’m not hungry.”

Raihan shrugged and continued to eat in silence. 

A few minutes later, Allister spooked him again by speaking up beside him. “You were why there was shouting and screaming earlier.”

“Yea…” He replied, truthfully. Could he really hear them from all the way up here? Scary. 

“Why?” He posed, not turning to face him. Allister had been facing forward, watching the paintings with interest through his mask. Though he could have been looking at him. He couldn’t tell, with how the mask obscured his eyes. 

“It’s just the media. Ever since Champion Leon’s defeat, the whole world’s been stir crazy for information about the champions, new and old. Since I’m a gym leader and the ex-champion's greatest rival, that makes me the next best person to interrogate besides Leon himself.” 

Allister nodded, a wordless cue for him to continue. Raihan snapped up another cracker.

“They used to catch me after gym battles for interviews, but never in such big crowds. Never this many.” He leaned against the wall, crossing his arms across his chest and dropping his head onto his left shoulder. “Now, I can’t catch a break. If I step out of my home for more than five minutes it’s like the entire city knows I’m awake, and they all want answers that I don’t have.”

“...” Allister was quiet. He barely moved since Raihan had started talking. Said man sighed again, closing his eyes. He tried not to let it go to his head, but the questions they asked whirled around in his mind, making him question himself as well. 

He startled a little when something brushed against his arm. Eyes open and confused, he looked to his side to find Allister giving him hesitant little pats, his hand tiny compared to Raihan’s bicep. As soon as he turned to look, his hand stuttered.

Raihan looked away again, but the awkward show of comfort didn’t return. 

He tried to change the subject. “Say, Alli, you’re a gym leader, too. What do you do when you get overwhelmed?”

“Hm.” He hummed. “Vanish... I vanish.” Raihan couldn’t tell if he was speaking metaphorically or not. It suddenly struck Allister that maybe Raihan wasn’t just asking because he was curious, but because he wanted advice. Allister wasn’t great at giving advice on anything. He stuttered a bit. “Uhm… But also, I like to surround myself with pokemon who will protect me from unwanted attention.” 

Rotom buzzed in his pocket, an alarm he set to remind him to return to the gym for the next practice session. He ignored it. “That’s incredibly helpful,” Raihan said. He smiled, embarrassed. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of that sooner. You’re alright, kid.” He reached down with one hand to ruffle Allister's hair, making him look like a dark dandelion. Allister looked down at the floor, not sure how to take the compliment. Before he could say anything, Raihan bounced up off the ground, new energy in his steps. His rotom wouldn't stop buzzing, and flew out of his pocket to make incoherent noises of frustration. 

“Rotom’s trying to tell me I have places to be, so I better get going,” he joked. Allister had been listening to rotom, and though Raihan couldn’t really understand what it was saying, he was spot on. He packed up the food wrappers into his box for recycling later, and pushed up off the ground. Raihan gave him a little pat on the back before turning to the doors again. “Thanks for being here. And sharing your food with me,” he added over his shoulder.

Allister didn’t make any moves to leave, so Raihan exited the vault sanctum alone. As he walked along the parapet, he peered below at the doorway. The guard still stood at attention, but the entire crowd had completely dispersed. Hopefully, none of them got in.

A thought struck him suddenly. He turned around and pushed the door of the vault open again. 

"Hey, Alli, how did you get in here an-"

But he had already vanished. There was no trace of the boy to be seen.

Raihan paused at the door in confusion but shrugged and closed it again. What a strange little guy he was. 

On his way out past the reception desk, he asked the clerk if a little boy with dark hair and a funny mask had come through. The receptionist shook his head no. _Huh._

Once he was out the front door, he let Flygon, Gigalith, Duradulon, and Sandaconda out of their pokeballs, instructing them to stay close to his side. Whenever a reporter would get a little too close, one of his pokemon would step in between and put a barrier between himself and the person or people who tried to harass him. It was a genuinely good idea. He smiled a genuine smile, feeling better for the personal space he had on his walk back to the gym.

“Rotom,” he called. The phone chirped at attention. “Text Bea: found Allister today, it was a surprise. when you see him again give him my phone number and tell him he can come back to the vault in hammerlocke to hang out whenever he’d like.” _Though I’m sure he doesn’t need permission_ , he thought to himself. “And add a smiley face at the end, please.” Rotom whirred with acknowledgment. 


	3. Milo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter One: Allister befriends a candle and has tea with a cool musician  
> Chapter Two: Allister shares a sandwich with a sad influencer  
> Chapter Three: Allister Fucking Dies (almost)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I fought this chapter for almost a week trying to write it. I think I lost, because it’s still not great. No matter how I write it, it still sounds wrong. It has bad vibes. I do not vibe with most of this chapter. It took me so long to write and rewrite this chapter that I wrote all of Raihan’s chapter while writing this because I needed a break. I realised I would just have to post it eventually and just get it over with so I could move forward. So. Here it is! I hope you enjoy it more than I did writing it.

The sun beat down mercilessly overhead, no refuge to be found in any direction, save for a small farmhouse and a barn a few kilometers away. It’s rays caused the earth to sizzle and the air to blur the distant buildings and rock formations of Turffield. 

Any sane and reasonable person would be indoors lazing about in the air conditioning, but not Milo. There was a little under half a day’s sunlight left, and he had come back from gym practice a few hours ago. Typically, when he had time outside of his gym responsibilities, he did work around the farm.

His wide brimmed sun hat kept him safe while he tilled weeds from the soft earth with a garden hoe. Milo’s family had owned the land for generations, but the only two remaining on the property where himself and his mother. She was getting too old to regularly care for their family farm, and most of his siblings had left to pursue bigger and better things in their own lives, so Milo tasked himself with caring for the pokemon and doing grounds work in the off-season when there where less gym battles and practices. Even if it meant being out in scorching temperatures.

He stood upright, swinging the farm tool over his shoulder. Wiping sweat off his face with his necktie, he peered out across the fields.

There was a clear separation between the land he had cleared and the land that was still very much wild. He’d been out in the fields working for hours, yet he still had a little over a thousand kilometers to go. He sighed. Yamper yipped, playing in the nearby grass. He smiled warmly at the sight before going back to work. 

He was so focused that he barely noticed the hours go by. Pokemon in the few sparse trees dotted across the land sang and called, and coupled with the warm breeze, it was like music. He listened to it intently, the sounds of nature like a rhythm that carried him through the task of weeding and clearing the field.   
  


Gradually, the song became a little quieter, losing some of it’s voice. It was such a slow change that he barely noticed. Milo paused, listening.

Yamper. He hadn’t heard or seen the yamper for awhile. A breeze blew through the field, bending the tall grass. 

He stood still, listening. Nothing.

He squinted, scanning the horizon line and straining his ears to hear the bark of his companion.

 _...Bark!...ampyampyamp...barkbark!..._  
  
There it was, so far away he could barely pick it out of the other sounds. It had probably chased a skwovet to the edge of the fields again. He tried to call it back to him, but to no avail.

Yielding, he set his garden hoe aside the pile of weeds at his feet and jogged out into the grass to find the creature. The sound of it’s barks traveled across the fields, echoing all around. 

As he strained his ears to find it’s source, it was evident that yamper had run off into the part of the fields he had yet to till. He wasn’t in any rush to find the silly pokemon, though. Yamper was well trained not to go any further than the fence around the property or risk being in the dangerous wilder areas outside the farm.

He continued to follow the noise, stopping every few meters to listen. As he went, he searched around bales of hay and under the trees where skwovet commonly lived. The bales were left out for the family’s mudsdale and wooloo, though wild pokemon who lived on and around the property tended to tear into them as well.

Most of them had been placed out earlier that week and already the majority of the bales had been shredded into loose piles. Besides the trees and bales, the fields were barren of obstacles or objects.

  
From his farm on the outskirts of Turffield, he could clearly see the gym at the center of the town, a good hundred and fifty kilometers away: a green pebble amidst an ocean of multicolored rooftops. The lack of obstructions, at least, made it easier to find yamper as he searched the near distance for the little yellow pokemon.

It was impossible to be subtle as his lumbering footsteps crunched the grass at his feet, the stalks swishing against his legs and waist. He heard it again, the faint yip, a little closer.

Suddenly, the grass started to swish and shuffle nearby, and the creature in question charged forth from the tall grass.  
It yipped and ran around his legs, pawing at the ground. He brought his hands up, trying to placate the pokemon.

Odd. It continued to run around his legs yipping. Suddenly, it’s ears perked up, and it turned before going still. It’s head whipped around towards the direction it came from and a beat later, it turned tail and bolted back into the tall grass. “Hey!” Milo shouted, startled. Yamper was quick as lightning, weaving in and around the tall blades of grass. Milo ran after it, eyes glued to the yellow blur ahead of him, refusing to lose sight of it.

He was so focused on following yamper that he nearly tripped over it when it stopped.

It was a small clearing. The grass around the hay pile at its center had been squashed flat by pokemon, leaving walls of tall grass surrounding it. Yamper circled the pile impatiently, barking and growling at the walls of grass.

He approached the yamper slowly. “What’s wrong?”   
  


It circled the pile, looking at him expectantly.

There didn’t seem to be any other pokemon around-

Scratch that. He turned around quickly to face a rustling in the grass behind him, but only saw a glimpse of a pumpkaboo retreating into the grasses. Yamper must have seen it too, because it skirted around Milo to bark at the creature, scaring it away further.

Where they after something?

He glanced at the hay pile.

Yamper jogged in circles around the pile, barking. The rustling of pumpkaboo sounded like rain from every direction, floating just outside the clearing, the closest ones only glimpses of purple and black amidst the tall grasses. It was definitely one of the weirder things he had seen out in the fields. He walked towards the center pile, more than a little curious at the strange phenomenon.

He carefully followed yamper around the hay. The hay was a mountain compared to yamper, and the little creature easily disappeared behind it. He chuckled and cautiously followed it around. The soft laugh died in his throat.

A glimpse of purple and black fabric. A sleeve.

And a small hand, limp and unmoving.

His heart stopped and his breath caught in his throat. There, half buried in the side of the hay pile, was young Allister. 

_What? Why? How?_

His mind raced with questions. His hands shook slightly. The tall grass seemed to loom over him, and the sun seemed to bear down on him. 

He closed his eyes, taking a sharp breath, and opened them again. He repeated this until his breath was even and mostly calm.

It was not the time to panic.

Milo gently removed Allister from the pile, placing him face-up on the grassy hillside. He fought back the growing sense of dread in his chest and tried to think of the alternatives to what seemed to clearly be a dead child in his field in the middle of a sunny summer day.

His first instinct was to try to perform a basic first aid check.

That was a lie. His first instinct was to scream and call Bea, but he didn’t have time for hysterics when there was even a chance that the boy was still alive. A very, very small chance.

Milo removed Allister’s mask with shaking hands and set it aside. The boy looked as if he were sleeping. 

He took another deep breath and tried to check for surface level injuries. After gingerly poking around his extremities and vital organs, Milo decided that there was no external hemorrhaging or visible broken bones. In fact, he seemed perfectly fine save for the pallor of his face. Milo had known Allister since he was just a toddler, and he had never seen him look like this. His skin was flush and almost pearlescent. Milo brought his ear close to his chest. It barely rose, the breaths short and sporadic. Yamper pawed around the unconscious boy, every so often bending down to sniff his cheek or lick his hand, only ever distracted by the ghostly pumpkaboo.

Milo leaned back on his knees and let out a breath he didn’t know he held.

Somehow, Bea’s kid brother had ended up in Turffield, by himself, in the middle of _easily_ the hottest day of the year, with no sun protection and layers upon layers of clothing. He knew the boy was a highly skilled and capable gym leader, but still found the situation a tad ridiculous. 

Regardless, it wouldn’t be the first time something so odd had happened. Milo knew from experience that Allister was a notoriously strange kid. He probably had a reason for being out here. Probably. Maybe.

Suddenly, he had a realization. His worry returned. Allister looked to be very unwell. The kid showed every sign for heat exhaustion, or worse, heat stroke. 

He hefted the child into his arms, letting his head fall in the crook of his elbow to keep it from jostling about as he walked.

Walking turned into running, and he was soon sprinting back to the dot of a house in the distance. He sped across the fields, a parade of pumpkaboo and a yamper in his wake. Allister bounced limply in his arms, one hand having fallen from his chest now swaying back and forth with the running momentum.

Milo carried wooloo around all the time; Allister couldn’t have weighed much more than that. Probably less. The kid was as light as a feather, and didn’t stir once. 

It took him longer than he would have liked to get back to the farmhouse. As someone who regularly worked out in blistering temperatures, he knew the dangers of heat exhaustion. Allister could easily be running a temperature of 40 degrees celsius, rising every minute. Arceus knows how long he’d been unconscious _before_ Milo had found him. He didn’t know how much time he had before Allister’s condition became fatal.

Striding up the porch stairs to the front door, he nudged the wire mesh door aside with his shoulder and brought Allister to the guest bedroom down the hall. It was the only room on the ground level which was air conditioned and provided a cool, level surface to rest him on. After he carefully deposited the unconscious child in the bed, he went to the thermostat to turn up the AC.  
Once he could hear the air churning through the ventilation system, he went to the kitchen in search of the items he needed to provide proper first aid. 

Amidst the adrenaline, a clipped cough startled him. Milo glanced over to see his mother enter the living room doorway, a folded book in hand.

“What’s gotten into you, lad?” She asked in a thick Turffield accent.

Milo gathered the items in his arms. “Had to chase yamper down today, all the way out to the edge of the field. Nothing I couldn’t handle, what with the wooloo as they are.” He paused to gather his supplies in his arms. “It was running circles ‘round some bale, way out. The pumpkaboo where being attracted, and I thought I’d found a dead child. Happened to be Allister, _alive_ , thank goodness. God only knows why he was out there.” He changed direction, heading back down the hall. He talked over his shoulder. “You remember Allister, mum.” 

She looked contemplative. “The lad you helped babysit a few years back? Why, isn't he a gym leader now?”

“Yes, mum.”

“What a gifted young man. And if I remember correctly, a gentleman as well.” 

Milo sighed, exasperated. “You’d think he would know more about sun safety, being from Stow-On-Side of all places.” Milo opened the door to the guest room, the chilly air of the room making his hair stand on end. 

She followed close behind. “Oh dear! How is he?”

He set his supplies on the bedside table. “He’s not dead. Yet. Danced with it, for sure.” He heard his mother gasp softly behind him. 

Allister hadn’t consciously stirred since he left, still as stone. Milo set a cold glass of water on the table and draped a damp cloth across Allister’s forehead and eyes. He rested the back of his hand on his head, and felt the skin burning up under his touch. At least his breath was evening out. Milo’d wager his pulse was picking up too. All he could do now was wait. 

Turns out he was very bad at waiting. 

He liked purpose, movement, getting work done. Waiting for something to happen when he could be working to better a situation felt wrong.  
  
The little clock on the bedside table ticked away incessantly. His mother looked at him, reading his expression, and smiled softly. 

“He’ll survive a few minutes without you watching over him.” She assured him. “I’ll stay by his side, if you want to go call his guardian.”

With a ‘Thank You’, he excused himself from the room. In the hall, he pulled his phone from his pocket and used this moment as an opportunity to finally contact Allister’s legal guardian-slash-half sister. 

He opted to call, rather than text her. The phone jingle played only once before she picked up. 

Her voice sounded out of breath, but steady. “Hello, Gym Leader Bea of Stow-On-Side speaking.” A pause. “...Milo?”

“Lovely day, isn’t it?” He responded positively. Contrary to his tone, he was pacing the hall with nervous energy.

There was another long pause full of light static. In the background, the sound of a lifting weight being dropped to the floor reverberated through the speaker. 

“Why are you calling me.”

“Well,” He responded. How could he possibly explain this in a not-terrifying way? “Allister’s here at the farm. Just thought you should know, in case you don’t already.” 

An exasperated sigh. “Oh, that's good. I’m glad you told me. I’m sure he isn’t too much of a handful for you to handle for a bit?”

“Well…” He drew it out, trying to come up with a way to put it. He couldn’t. It was awkward.

“What? Well, what?”

...

“Milo.”

...

“What’s wrong.”

He sighed, pulling his hat a little tighter on his head.

“ _Milo_.”

“It’s probably best you come see for yourself.” He heard her take a sharp breath through the speaker, and then hang up on him without a word.

A few seconds later, his phone pinged. A text.

_**Bea:** I’ll be there in 10 minutes. You will tell me everything._

Somehow, he was starting to think he made it worse. 

From the hall, his mother’s voice echoed. “Milo, dear, I think the young man’s awake.”

“Coming, mum!” He called, his voice carried through the house.

When he returned to the room, Allister was actively trying to sit up, and his mother had placed a gentle hand on his shoulder to stabilize him. Milo quickly moved to the bedside, persuading him to lay back against a quilted blanket, propping his head up with a pillow.

“Allister! Hey, don’t panic, just lay down. It’s me, Milo,” he said. He gestured across the bed. “And my mum, Pani. I’m sure you remember me from tourneys, right? I’ve babysat you a few times, but I don’t think you’d remember that…” He looked aside, embarrassed by his rambling. “You did a right job sending me into a panic when I found you in the fields earlier today. You’re lucky I found you at all!” 

He searched Allister’s face for any kind of recognition or understanding, but Allister only looked extremely confused and misplaced. And tired. He reached up to his face, shaky fingers ghosting where his mask should have been. 

Milo’s face lit up as he remembered. “Oh, my bad. I apologize for not respecting your personal space, but I removed it to do a first aid check when I found you.” He reached around to the bedside table and retrieved the mask for him. The boy took it gladly, but opted to let it rest on his lap rather than his face. With consent, Milo placed his hand across his forehead again. His breathing had settled, but he was still running a temperature.  
They sat in silence for awhile, allowing Allister to take in his surroundings. Milo’s mum took that as an appropriate moment to excuse herself to go out to the hall. 

It seemed like an eternity later, but eventually Allister inhaled a shaky breath and spoke up. 

“It’s not…a hospital.” He hummed, looking around and taking in the framed family photos on the walls, the bedside table, and Milo himself.

“Wasn’t anything we couldn’t handle here on the farm.” Milo responded. Farmers were resilient, especially fighting farmers like himself, but farming was still dangerous work. After a few years, you learn a few things. Taking care of heat exhaustion was scary but simple, if you knew what to do.

“Farm. Your farm?” Allister’s eyes were unfocused. He looked into the near distance as if trying to see something just out of sight. 

Oh dear. “Do you not remember?”

Allister scrunched his brow again before going slack and pale as a sheet. When he began to sway, Milo reached out to steady him. “Don’t hurt yourself trying to think of an answer! I’m sure you had a perfectly reasonable reason to be...here,” He retracted his hand, reaching out again with the water glass off the table. Which reminded him. “I think the reason you got heat exhaustion to begin with was because of all those layers you’re wearing. If you want to change into different clothes,” He patted the neatly folded pile of clothes at the foot of the bed. “I’ve found some old clothes from my siblings that might fit you.” He gave one last warm smile before walking out to the hall and shutting the door behind him. He stood by, listening until he heard some shuffling. Hopefully, it was the shuffling of Allister being able to stand and move around on his own.

Should he have asked if he could stand? Should he have left him alone?

Hopefully the clothes fit.

They belonged to his younger siblings who’s dressers had yet to be cleaned out. His family was fairly short by nature, so there was bound to be _something_ that would fit him. Unfortunately, a lot of Milo’s family were also practically born farmers; they were short and stocky, strong from years of work even at a young age. Allister was small and stringy, thin as a twig. He would have to make due with what milo could find.

He ambled into the kitchen, placing his hat on the table before placing himself in a chair. His mum regarded him for a moment before gently patting him on the head and moving around to access the pantry. 

Milo buried his hands in his hair. 

“You did all that you could do.”

“Auuauughhggmm.” He admitted, leaning back and looking out the kitchen window. A few pumpkaboo that had followed him home bumped against the windows, looking in. He had yet to figure out why they were all so intrigued by Allister. He wasn’t dead. Maybe they where confused? Or waiting?

Milo shook his head at the thought. It could be anything; he wasn’t psychic. 

Pani hummed. His ringtone chimed. He reached down absently, nearly dropping the phone when he read the notification.

_**Bea:** I’m outside._

“There he is!” Pani exclaimed. Milo lowered his phone and followed her gaze to see Allister shuffling down the hall. 

If not for his mum’s keen ear, he wouldn’t have even noticed. Allister was extremely quiet. 

He looked so different, Milo almost couldn’t believe it was Allister at all. He chose a worn clover t-shirt with a budew pattern across the front and jean shorts which were frayed at the hems. It was incredibly different from his usual attire. He stood awkwardly in the hallway until Pani slid a chair out for him at the table, which he took graciously. 

His skin was more evenly pale now, which was probably a good thing? Considering it was Allister, Milo was inclined to believe so. 

“Thank you.” He murmured. Gracefully, or dizzily, he took a chair at the table. 

She smiled warmly, idling by the stove. “Of course.” She reached over the table, and the boy ducked when she tried and succeeded to ruffle his hair. “There’s always a seat at our table for you.”

While Allister was distracted by the attention, Milo stood. With both Allister and his mother in conversation (albeit very one-sided), he excused himself through the front door. 

Bea stood on the front porch in full gym uniform, the taxi she hailed growing smaller in the distance as it left. Her arms were crossed, eyebrows furrowed.

“Good afternoon, Bea-“

“No. Stop. I know that tone, Milo. Where is he?”

“You have impeccable timing.” He gestured back at the wire-frame door with his thumb. “He just woke up.”

“ _Woke up?_ ” She shook her head, walking past him and through the front door. He followed, walking in behind her.

Though she immediately spotted Allister, she was also immediately intercepted by Milo’s mother. “Bea, dear, I haven’t seen you in ages! How’s Stow-On-Side?” Despite her straight-forward nature compelling her to brush off the greeting to address her brother’s actions, she settled for being engulfed in a strong-armed hug instead. 

She turned her head to Milo. “You promised me an explanation.” He shrugged.

When Milo’s mother finally released her from the hug, she whirled around to face her brother. “And you-,” As soon as she opened her mouth, he stood up and quietly left through the front door.

“I’ll be talking to you later!” She called after him. Pani, after retrieving the book she had set down earlier, followed a few moments later, closing the door behind her.

“You’re not going to go after him?”

She ignored the question. “I don’t suppose he gave you any explanation for his behavior?”

“No. Not at all.” Milo said, placing his hat back on his head. “I know he’s usually...strange, but I’ve never seen him like this.”

“It seems to be happening more often, as of late.” She took a seat at the table, her angry facade breaking into something more like anguish. She looked down at the tabletop, sighing. “I hope it’s not something I’ve done.”

“Oh! No, it’s not your fault!” He exclaimed, “You’re doing the best you can, watchin’ out for him like you do.” Milo sat across from her, giving her an honest smile. “I’ve had enough siblings to know a good one when I see one.” 

She returned the gesture by giving Milo a soft punch in the arm. “Thanks.” He chuckled and stood, walking a few paces to the wire mesh door. Out in the yard, wooloo rolled freely. Allister was among them, pumpkaboo flocking around him at a distance. Yamper was by his side, yipping threateningly at the curious ghost types. Milo’s mother sat in a wicker rocking chair just beside the door, reading her book and glancing up every few moments to make sure Allister hadn’t disappeared.

He ran across the yard, coming to a stop in front of the house as the two young adults stepped outside. The sun still beat down mercilessly, but the shadow of the house stretched out in front of the home, blanketing the yard in shade.

Bea walked off the porch, catching up with Allister. She bent down to talk to him, but they were too quiet for Milo to hear the exchange. His mother turned to him. “I hope you don’t mind that I let the wooloo out. Seemed like the lad could use the comfort.” Milo nodded, ignoring the fact that he would have to herd them all back into the barn again later. Content, she went back to reading her book. Bea returned to the porch without a word to say, dropping down onto the step next to him. Milo sat down beside her. They exchanged glances, but neither of them said anything. 

The sun was at the perfect point of it’s arc across the sky, bathing the countryside in a honey yellow light. It glinted off the metal roofs of distant barns and silos, making the field in the distance seem like an ocean of gold. 

Allister continued to chase the wooloo in circles around the field, which seemed either frightened by the ghost type gym leader, or excited by the attention. Yamper chased him, barking and jumping at his heels. 

“Are you sure I’m doing everything right?” 

Milo glanced at her, but Bea was still looking out at the horizon, not making eye contact. 

He turned back to the strange parade of pokemon running in circles in the yard. Just as Bea was prepared to ask the question again, he reached up and took his hat off his head, dropping it onto her’s.

“You do all that you can do. And that’s enough.”

She took that hat off her head, holding it in her hands. Her eyebrows were knit, contemplative.

Milo spared her another look before leaning back against a porch rail post and resting his hands behind his head. 

Wooloo called from the sun lit field, intermingling with giggling and barking that echoed across the countryside.


End file.
